I Want a Happy Ending
by SophiaTab
Summary: The Title says it all. This is wish fulfillment. I rewatched BBC's Banished again and the depressing ending got to me. I want a happy ending for the remaining characters, so I wrote it. And it doesn't stray too far from the canon. The hints are definitely there in Episode 3 when James Freeman steals the Governor's rum. Enjoy. Feedback feeds my habit
1. Chapter 1

**I Want a Happy Ending**

In the few memories, James Freeman had of his father the old bastard was leering down with a ghoulish glint mumbling something sinister or depressing between spits of phlegm and tobacco juice. _Just because you want to die, Jimmy boy, don't mean your body will let you._ That had been one of the old man's all-time favorites. Lately, it haunted James's every living moment. He was the executioner now and the only one he really wanted to kill was himself. But that would send him to hell the Reverend Johnson constantly admonished him. The Reverend and Mrs. Johnson were among the few people that still talked to him.

Elizabeth certainly wouldn't speak to him even when he begged her to take his food for the sake of Tommy Barret's baby. Governor Phillips's housekeeper, Deborah, became his salvation. She took Elizabeth all the pork, fish and bread he could scrounge swearing they were the Governor's scraps. At least, he could fulfill some of the promises he made.

He almost had to a hang an innocent woman when Kitty McVitie stabbed Major Ross. Luckily Mrs. Johnson was able to convince Kitty to plead her belly which delayed that. Deborah said a delay gave them time for the law to change or the Governor to be persuaded to change things. According to Captain Collins he had the option of pardon and well, a lot of the soldiers weren't happy about how Ross had poached an enlisted man's woman.

"But, it's only a few months," James had lamented.

"No, we'll have over a year. They cannot hang a nursing mother if it leaves the baby to starve." Deborah explained.

He hadn't thought of that. There were a lot of things Deborah and Mrs. Johnson thought up that never occurred to him.

Then a Dutch ship ran aground on their beach. The crew was mostly dead from typhus, but the hull was filled with rice, pork, and something called breadfruit. It meant salvation though James still felt damned even though his material circumstances quickly changed to the best he had ever had in his life. They didn't let him work too close to the other prisoners for fear someone would take his life. Mostly he built rooms unto the Governor's mansion. It would have been a farmhouse in England. Here it was a palace. He slept there too now locked in a cupboard because Private Buckley wasn't capable of guarding him all the time. He had a water bucket and rag blankets to sleep on, but sometimes it was actually nice , especially when it was raining or when Deborah and he took their meals together at the kitchen table.

He had never been so close to a lady before. Once she told him she wasn't quite the class to be called a lady, but James knew she was oceans away from the gutter he came from. Deborah's father had been a clergyman with daughters too numerous to even try saving dowries for them. She had been lucky to be pretty enough for a naval lieutenant who volunteered for Cape Town hoping to make a better life for both of them. At least, the man seemed to deserve her though she didn't talk about her husband. Instead, she asked him questions about his life before. He had heard of posh bucks that had a fascination with the lowlife, but that didn't seem to be the case with Deborah. She wanted to know about the lives of the poor and criminal and not just out of morbid curiosity. He had figured it out quick that she had Governor Philip's ear in a way neither Reverend Jones nor Major Ross could compete. She helped the convicts a lot more than the Reverend did.

She taught him to read and that opened the doorway into a freedom he never thought would be his. He made a good show of studying the _Bible_ or _Pilgrim's Progress_ when Governor Philip or Reverend Jones was around, but secretly preferred _Don Quixote_ and anything by Henry Fielding.

"Why didn't you finish, _Clarissa_?" Deborah asked.

"Because Lovelace is a bastard. He's going to rape her and I don't want to read about it." He said.

Her eyes went round. "How did you know?"

"I know people. Whether they are fancy gentleman or dockside pimps, there can still be the same monster lurking inside." He explained.

Her eyes became treacle. "James Freeman, you are an unpolished gem."

"Why do you call me, James?" He had wondered about that for weeks.

She looked puzzled now. "Isn't that your name?"

"It is, but most people call me Jimmie," he said.

"Jimmie is a boy's name. You're a man." She said.

Her words burned deep into his chest. A man, not a convict. He had never felt so honored before.

Of course, the larger house had one unfortunate disadvantage. He had always wondered why Captain Collins never took a woman. After the Captain moved into one of the new rooms in the Governor's house, he found out why. At Deborah's insistence, they let him roam rather free as long as the windows were drawn. He hadn't heard those sounds; the wet slapping of hard muscles against coarse flesh, the heavy breathing, and grunts too crude to be a man and woman, since prison. But no sane man every forgot those sounds. Sometimes he wondered about how Captain Collins felt. Of course, maybe it was anything for a promotion. He made it his business to do the Captain's laundry because he didn't want Deborah exposed to such depravity.

It was a life of sorts even if nine-hundred convicts wanted him dead. He had better place to sleep than he ever had before, a steady supply of food, and a lady to talk to in the way that really mattered to keep a person sane. And if he just had to hear another human voice he could listen to Private Buckley's self-pitying whines. Christ in Heaven, Buckley seemed to be even more despised in the colony than him. Even his brother soldiers barely tolerated the man.

Then the world shifted again. Major Ross lost even more influence with Governor Philip. Tommy's widow, Elizabeth. married the blacksmith, Will Stubbins, a man in a very good position to take care of her and the baby and more than glad to declare himself dead to a first wife who had already deserted him. James had known since the day he hanged Tommy she would never feel anything more than hate for him, but the marriage was a final severing raw and jagged. It reminded him that his father was right, no matter how bad his life was, things could always get worse. When he returned from watching the wedding and Buckley was dismissed, Deborah smiled and offered him a pewter tumbler of wine.

"It's the good Madeira from the Dutch ship. I asked Governor Philip for some and he was most generous." She said.

He took the tumbler eagerly, but noticed her other hand was empty. "You never drink. I always wondered why. I know the Governor would share whatever he has with you."

"It burns my throat," she explained.

He wasn't trying to corrupt her or addle her senses when he held out the glass, it was simply the impulse to share something good with the one person he had found to be a good. "Madeira's much more gentle on the throat. It reminds me of summer at its best."

She took a sip and then a long swallow that brought a smile to her face. "It is the best of summer's grapes." She held the tumbler out.

He pushed it back toward her. "Keep it. It's too rich for the likes of me."

She smiled. "Then pour yourself three fingers of rum. I'll make certain Governor Philip does not miss it."

He had sat drinking with women before, but that had been in taverns or brothels, not the kitchen of the Governor's mansion and never with the company of any as fine as the lady with him now. She fascinated him. How small and delicate her facial bones were, though he knew the iron she was made from. And her eyes, well no eyes had ever gazed so kindly at him. She was nothing like the tavern girls, prostitutes, or molls he had consorted with before, but his body was beginning to think about her like any man's would and that was dangerous. He should get up from the table and go back to his closet. Except this time was so perfect, so wonderfully nice, pure and clean he couldn't tear himself away from her.

"I'm sorry Elizabeth didn't choose you, James. You are a good man and I know you cared for her." she said.

"Stubbins does too and he'll take care of her. All the affection he had for his previous wife he'll transfer to Elizabeth because that man was made for endless devotion." He said.

"I suppose it is possible a man can be so. After all, your friend Tommy was willing to hang for his lover." Then her face fell. "I'm sorry. I should not have referred to Tommy so casually. I did not intend to cause you pain."

He found himself smiling instead of feeling sad. He had never had a woman of quality care about his feelings let alone feel she needed to attempt an apology. But he couldn't let her do that. "I don't believe you would ever do anything to cause me pain."

He was way too close to her. Less than a hand width separated their faces. He couldn't resist. He was a bee. She was a flower and her sweet scent overpowered any rum at intoxicating him. Then he crossed the point of no return. His lips touched hers and swept him into typhoon of roses, silk and sin. And was this ever a sin! A married woman was in his arms. Pick-pocketing was nothing. It had been survival. This was breaking at least two commandments with a good and moral woman that had never done anything, but kindness to him. They were on the table. Her hands went inside his trousers and drew his manhood out. That shocked him for a moment. But he remembered she wasn't a virgin. She was a married woman used to enjoying the pleasures of her husband's body. Except her husband was in Cape Town. She probably missed him dearly. Probably missed the sex too. Was that why she was doing this? Plenty of married women sought out any port in a storm. She moaned the name James just as her teeth clamped down his neck. Her distant husband had nothing to do with what they were sharing. Sharing? Yes, that was the right word. This wasn't shagging a whore against a wall. This woman wanted to be with him! He took a moment to steady himself and joined with her.

Their bodies were fire and powder and the inferno consumed him. This was like nothing he ever known. And it wasn't the softness of her skin or the sweetness of her cries that made it different. This felt holy even if it was the most unholy act he ever committed. It felt like what Tommy and Elizabeth had shared, what should be shared between man and wife, but she wasn't his wife. Didn't stop him from loving her though. And realizing he loved, real and true, gave him a burst of will power necessary to spare her the risk of their transgression being discovered. Summoning all his strength, he pulled away and grabbed a tea towel to finish off.

Deborah burst into tears as a decent married woman naturally would upon realizing the vows she had just broken. James had heard of woman that walked into the sea or threw themselves off cliffs after being so compromised. He couldn't risk such happening to her. "That was all my sin and none yours. The rum inflamed my lust and I took advantage of you. You are innocent."

She stifled her tears. "Oh, James, you're the innocent." She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve to wipe her eyes.

"I didn't come inside you. There's very little risk you'll be with child." He said.

Her expression grew more sad. "There is no risk whatsoever. I have been married nearly twelve years and I have never been with child. That's why my husband went to Cape Town. He hopes to get a convict woman pregnant. If I am lucky I will be able to raise their bastard."

_Your husband is the only bastard in that situation._ He hoped whatever convict woman her husband tried to breed with cut off the bastard's balls. He wanted to pummel her husband into a bloody pulp for torturing Deborah with such a proposal. As much as he wanted to reassure her mind that she would not be caught with child from his mistake, he wanted to comfort her sadness over a childless marriage also. "Barrenness is not always because of the woman. Some man are no more fertile than mules."

Her hand came down on his. "You are kinder than many gentlemen, James."

He pulled his hand away fast. "This will never happen again. I swear it. I'll move back to the convict's quarters and let them end my life before I'll risk corrupting you."

She got up from the table. Tears were leaking from her eyes again. A pit formed in his chest. He knelt penitent in front of her. "This was not your sin. It was all my own doing and no one will ever know. I swear before God and all that is holy to die before letting that happen."

Her fingertips touched his forehead. A burning blessing, but her eyes were pits of despair. "No one is innocent. But you are right. This cannot happen again. Please go to your room."

He was grateful for the smallness of the closet. The confined space reminded him of the prison he belonged inside. Fuck it all! He could never stop screwing up. He hung the best friend he ever had. Now he had just jeopardized the life of the only lady who had ever looked at him without scorn in her eyes. He slammed both fists into the hard native wood and the pain felt good. Pain was what he needed. He wanted anything, but what he knew was coming next. Then it happened and tears rolled down his check. This was worse than Tommy hanging. This was worse than his parents dying. He had killed his whole world this time.

The next morning, Deborah was chilly and distant. No smile for him, but that was right. It was how it had to be because they could never risk becoming too close again. Two weeks later the ship arrived from Cape Town with a year's worth of provisions, more convicts, and a letter for Deborah. Her husband had died from measles seven months ago.


	2. Chapter 2

James found Deborah at the kitchen table. She had taken out the mending to work on, but the letter was still open in her hand. Her cheeks were so wet his throat grew scratchy just seeing it. He longed to wipe those tears away, but that wasn't proper. It was barely proper when they did make eye contact and he bowed his head and spoke. "My condolences on your loss."

She gazed up as if the world were on fire behind him. "When did you learn to speak like a gentleman?"

He tried to coax her out of sorrow with humor. "After I lifted a few pocket watches the words came naturally."

It worked. He saw a weak upturn to in her sweet mouth. "They seem right for you," she said.

"Sorrow does not seem right for you. Life is hard and you know that. Therefore, you should try not to dwell on what cannot be changed." He took a great risk and touched her cheek. Wet silk, but softer than anything before in his life.

She put the letter in her apron and did not shove his hand away. Her face shined now. "It was not adultery," she announced with pride

He didn't understand this change in the conversation. "What?"

She explained. "Our night in the kitchen. It wasn't adultery. I was already six months a widow."

If it gave her comfort, he could live with that reasoning. "No one will doubt you're a grieving widow who loved her husband."

She turned solemn. "I didn't love him. Well, maybe at first before he turned so horrible because I couldn't give him children."

That shouldn't make him feel so good, James thought. But damn, it did. Deborah continued talking about her life. He realized it was the most she had ever told him.

"I married him out of necessity. He was the only man who offered for my hand and I was already a burden on my family. It was either him or be a governess. Too often young governess become concubines in the houses where they are employed." She said.

Life's lot was similar for women of all classes it seemed. Fuck or starve. The only real differences were the compensations they might get. No wonder she felt sympathy for Kitty McVitie. He felt even more ashamed for how he had used her body that night. "I'm sorry for what I forced on you."

"Stop doing that. We were both at fault that night." She said.

"I took pleasure amid your pain. I should amend for that." He said.

Her fingers twisted in her lap. "You gave no pain that night only pleasure. Pleasure I had not known before."

"Not?" he blurted out from surprise.

"My husband's warmth was a candle on a cold night," she said.

He couldn't resist the question. "And with me?"

Her gaze met his. They said the eyes were windows of the soul and hers were purer than the glass in a Protestant church. "A firestorm."

Let him be damned. He pulled her into his arms and seared his mouth over her lips. She did not responded like a grieving widow, but as a woman born for passion, fiery nights, and euphoria. He was near breathless when their mouths finally parted. "I love you," he said. "I know I'm beneath you. I've got nothing to offer you and I've done horrible things. But I love you. There's nothing else true in my life, but that."

This time she started the kissing. She played with his tongue like a cat with a mouse. Her hands were fire against his body and he gloried in it. He felt them at his waist. Luckily, he grabbed them in time. "We can't," he said, and then he thought of something that would take her mind off her husband's death if only for a few intense moments. "There's something I can do that will make you very happy. Do you trust me?"

She nodded, but with wary eyes.

He glanced around the kitchen. All the curtains were drawn. It was late in the day and the mending hung over the table blocking the view of the area underneath. It was about as much privacy as they could probably find in the colony. He knelt down in front of her, pulled her closer, and put both arms up her skirt. "Do you wear knickers?"

"Of course," she seemed shocked to be asked, but didn't say anything else.

Lucky for him, she wore the kind that fastened in the center. A few bows to undo and he was caressing the gates of Venus. At least, that was the way he would always think about this part of her and never with the crude terms men of his class were prone to employ. It wasn't right to be so disgusting toward the very source of human existence. This part of a woman should be worshiped.

Her body begin to tremble, but not with grief or fear. "I thought you said we could not do this." she said.

"We could not do it that way. This way we can." He pushed more of her skirt aside, kissed her knee, and spread her thighs further apart. Ivory and silk. She was as pretty down there was she was up top. His mouth followed his fingers. It was so easy to pleasure her this way. She reminded him of butter and fresh white bread. So fine she made his loins burn and he knew he had to self-regulate with his hands or risk making love to the most dangerous way. Her fingers went to his scalp as he found the hot center of her passion. Her thighs were angels wings on his ears. Within moments, they found a perfect rhythm. Then someone walked into the house. He froze.

"Deborah, I had no idea you were still here." It was the Governor. There was another man with him probably Collins. What had they come home for? An after tea ass gouging?

"There is so much mending that needs to be sorted and done." Deborah said. Her hands were twisting frantically in his hair. She was probably scared out of her mind. He grabbed her wrists and squeezed hard.

"Under the circumstances you are more than justified in leaving early," the Governor said.

"It is easier to deal with my grief when I have work to do," she said.

"Governor Philip, we really must meet with the Reverend and Mrs. Jones in their quarters. The matter seemed to be quite urgent." That was Captain Collins. What tragedy was about to happen next in the colony?

"You are right. I had nearly forgotten. Please feel free to leave whenever you wish, Deborah. I imagine we shall be at the Jones several hours." The Governor said.

"Make sure Jimmie gets something to eat before you leave," Captain Collins said.

Only after they heard the door close and lock did Deborah sweep her skirt back where he could see her face. She was flushed red, but luckily, the Governor must have assumed that was the strain of crying over her dead husband.

"Shall I finish?" he asked.

"Don't you dare stop," she said.

Good God! He loved pleasing this woman! Her softness. Her sweetness. It was better than any drink. Her voice only inflamed his erection nearly out of control. He wanted her to know happiness. Therefore, he worshiped her with velvet caresses letting her body set the pace and keeping his own burning in check. He felt her hands on his head and shoulders pulling him forward. He wanted to her to know love. Unfortunately, in the hell they lived in this was all he could do to show it, so he used every trick he could remember to make a woman happy. Then the moment came and she unraveled beneath is lips. Her eyes rolled back toward her lids; then snapped shut. He saw tears again, but not like the time on the table. Surely, she felt no shame now? Did her own pleasure frighten her? He wanted to embrace her at that point, so she would ride out the tide in the safety of his arms. Except it really wouldn't be safe for him to hold her so close while he was in state he was in now. He doubled-up on his hand strokes and hoped she wasn't watching. His climax was lightening and left him just as spent. Afterwards he stayed on the floor trying not think about what he really wanted which was her in a bed cuddling in his arms and being able to reassure her, he could do that again as many times as she wanted.

"How did you learn to do that?" she said.

He tried to evade the question. "Did you like it?"

"You heard my cries. You know I did." She demanded an answer. "You didn't answer my question. I've read about such methods being used by famous lovers in French and Italian novels, but how did you learn to pleasure a woman like that?"

"After my parents died I lived in a brothel for a while. The woman that work in those places they don't enjoy what they do with their customers, so they taught me how to do what they did enjoy. I didn't have any stubble on my cheeks and they really liked that." He said.

Judging from the look on her face, he shouldn't have told her that. "How old were you?" she asked.

"Eight or nine." He needed to shut up and stop telling Deborah things that would only horrify her, but sometimes he couldn't stop. It was as if she had become his priest and he was in confession. No, it wasn't like that. He had never had much of a problem concealing things from priests.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. "Oh, James, you were just a little boy."

It bothered him that she felt pity. "It's not the worst thing in the world." Worse things were done to little girls all the time, but he wasn't going to tell her about that ever.

"I use to think I was greatly put upon and ill-used by the world, but when I hear the convicts stories I feel guilty for ever having that opinion. England has been so savage to her poor." She said.

"Tommy use to say the only real crime is being poor. That you even realize it is more than most." He said.

She began to smile. "Well, what can I do to make you feel better?"

She could not be suggesting what he thought for a moment. No. No way. "Please give me towel. I made a mess on the floor," he said.

Her face turned scarlet.

He kissed her ankle. "Shouldn't be embarrassed. It means I enjoyed it too. I can do this with you any time you want."

"What if I don't want you at my feet?" she asked.

He kissed her other ankle. "It's where I belong. And it's safest."

She stroked his head. "I want to be in your arms. I never really wanted that with him."

James didn't have to ask who him was. "We've got to be careful. You're smarter than me. Smarter than most men. You've got to see that."

She sighed. "I know," she said finally. Her fingers continued massaging his head. She was so very gentle his heart stirred with each touch. How could a man ever be horrible to her? His opinions on her late husband had completely changed. He certainly didn't feel guilty for that night on the table anymore. His only sadness was that it couldn't happen again. The risk was too great. But now was good also. He could stay like this for, well, forever. Except it was getting late. The Governor and Captain Collins would eventually return. He got off the floor. "They'll be back. It's better if you leave while it's still light."

She nodded. He kissed her hand and leaned close. "Always remember I love you." At least he could dream her tears meant nothing about her dead husband tonight.


	3. Chapter 3

The Governor started assigning him work inside the house. A year ago he would have rebelled, but there was no lower in the other convicts' eyes he could sink, so why bother. It was easy work and he liked being able to send Private Buckley to fetch water or empty slop jars. He was there to overhear when they devised a plan to save Kitty McVitie.

Captain Collins objected at first. "I don't see the problem. Women of her class often have children out of wedlock."

"That is not the world we wish to create here. This is a new land and a new change for all." The Reverend Johnson said.

"With such a pretty face, I think she will find another man quite easily even with a child," Mrs. Johnson said.

Deborah spoke up. "Not if it means spending his days looking over his shoulder for a vindictive Major Ross. And if Major Ross decides he has some claim on the child that could be a scandal and a disaster if it reaches England."

"I have a man in mind who would be more than capable of protecting her and the child. A man who if he announces he is the father of Katherine McVitie's child, no one will dispute him." The Governor said.

"The one we discussed earlier?" Deborah asked.

The Governor gazed over at her and smiled. It made James uncomfortable considering what he knew of the Governor's habits with Captain Collins. "It is," he said, and then he explained for the rest of the table. "Deborah came to me earlier with a proposed solution and upon consideration I think it is the most satisfactory resolution we could hope for."

"Women are often the best match-makers. Has someone spoken to the man?" Mrs. Johnson said.

"I feel he will be agreeable," the Governor said.

"Perhaps, we should offer him some incentive," Captain Collins suggested. Well, it wasn't any different from the way wealthy families raised the dowries on pock-marked daughters James considered.

"That is a most excellent thought, Captain Collins," the Governor said. "I shall offer him sixty pounds as would be considered quite appropriate for their class."

"We shall provide a family Bible and, as we have two, a copper kettle," Reverend Johnson said.

"We shall do much better than that," Mrs. Johnson said. Her face had lite up over the prospect of Kittie McVitie being somehow legitimized. "Three new dresses were sent to me from Cape Town. Katherine McVitie shall have the pick of them, a new petticoat, and four pair of stockings to begin life as a married woman."

James struggled not to laugh as all eyes at the table shifted in the direction of Captain Collins. He did seem to squirm for a moment. "I suppose I could spare ten pounds and a portion of the new linen my family sent."

"It will be a truly beautiful dowry for a poor girl," Reverend Johnson announced.

After they were gone, Deborah approached him. "I'm sorry you had to hear that. Some people do to realize how ridiculously condescending they sound even when they believe they are doing good."

At least, he recognized the words. She had recently taught him that condescending was the proper name for that attitude of the better off towards the poor whenever money was concerned. Luckily, it was easy to brush off most of the time. "I've heard Protestant minsters talk that that all my life. It means nothing to me."

She kissed him quick on the cheek as she thought a blow had been struck. "What happened to Katherine McVitie was wrong. This won't make up for it, but it should improve her life. And she was your friend, hearing Mrs. Johnson gloat over her charity couldn't have been pleasant."

"That dress is probably the first new one Kitte McVitie has had in her life. And it is charitable of Mrs. Johnson. You know how little a parsons' living can be," James said.

She bit down on her lip with a frown. Apparently, she hadn't considered that at all. He would rather she worried less, so he leaned in closer. "Can I get another kiss, please?"

The frown disappeared before her lips landed on his. She tasted like mint and honey and freedom. He led her into the darkest, most secluded section of the pantry. It had become their little sanctuary. With her in his arms all the pain of the past went away replaced by something wonderful. _James, you're a good man. I love you, James_. He would never get enough of those words.

When he started to kneel down she stopped him. Her fist twisted in his collar. "I don't want you that way anymore," she said.

"It's the only way I can share pleasure with you safely," he said.

"I'm barren," she said.

"We don't know that and the risk is too great," he replied.

"There are herbs women can use to keep their courses flowing. Anne Hatheway has already found some of them growing in the forests here." She said.

Anne Hatheway wasn't a monster, but he didn't want to owe her any favors either. And he knew enough about those herbs. They weren't nearly as safe as most people liked to believe. "Those herbs can just as easily kill you as keep your courses flowing. Trust me. I've seen it happen. There's your good reputation to think of also."

"I'm a poor widow believed to be carrying on an affair with the Governor. What good reputation is there to risk?" she said.

"You're still seen as a woman of a higher class than the soldiers. One they can't touch. If you fall though, it means my death. Because one of them will try to take you, I'll kill him and then I'll hang like Tommy." He said.

The spell of lovemaking was broken. She looked so sad it struck deep into his heart and he held her for comfort not cuddling. "I use to wish for death, but now I don't. I want to have as much time as I can with you."

"How old are you, James?" she asked.

"Twenty-six I think. My mum was never too sure of my birthdate." He admitted.

Her face fell more at that. He slid his head unto her lap and let the smooth fabric of her skirt pillow his chin. "What's wrong?"

"I'm older than you," she said.

"You're smarter than me too," he said.

She caressed his head. Better than a fairy's blessing. "That doesn't bother you? My mother used to say 'Hide your intelligence like a defect or no man will want you.'"

They said that in his class also though not with as much force. When people were struggling to stay alive, any idea that worked was followed no matter which gender it came from.

"I imagine your mother was a very good woman and very smart too, but no one can be right about everything. It's good that you're smart because I'm not. You can help me like Mrs. Johnson helps the Reverend." He said. Unfortunately, he couldn't stop talking again and said the next thing that came into his head. "Truth is, I wonder what you see in me?" _Shut up, Freeman!_ His brain screamed as soon as the words hung in the air. _Don't give this woman reason to realize how much above you she is._

The question earned him a kiss. Amazing. "I noticed you for the first time the day they lashed Elizabeth Barrett. Mrs. Johnson and I wondered what sort of man could stand silent for that. You and Will Stubbins were amazing in how you kept Tommy under control. I realized it wasn't indifference that kept her lover from speaking up. I remember the tears you shed for Elizabeth. I was not accustom to men feeling so deeply for a woman."

He wanted to reassure her that he didn't have feelings for Elizabeth anymore. "Elizabeth was always Tommy's woman, never mine."

She nodded. "I know. But that didn't stop what you felt for her. Women dream of being loved like that."

Another kiss. "The day I really met you was when you stole Governor Philip's rum. You were laughing in the face of death at first and then trembling in its shadow. But at both extremes of life you were charming. You tried to make me laugh. Most men don't think about how women feel. We're just upper servants to them. You never treated me like a servant."

_That's because I'm your slave. _He didn't risk saying that out loud.

Three days later Governor Philip commuted Katherine McVitie's sentence. She married Sergeant Timmins in the front room of the Governor's house in what was supposed to be a small ceremony. But the Sergeant's men were waiting outside the door with their rifles and bugles, the regimental colors and a small cake that probably represented nearly every man's daily flour ration and a month's worth of treacle and raisins. The newlyweds moved into a cottage of nearly as good a quality as a Sergeant and his wife would expect in England complete with simple furniture and what domestic goods nearly a hundred men having survived as bachelors for over a year could cobble together. Several of the convict women were quite frank in their envy. It was all better than the likes of Kittie McVitie would have had in England.

"Do you think she's really safe now?" James asked Deborah that afternoon.

"Enlisted men value their sergeants more than they value their majors. They got angry when Ross poached a concubine. I do not want to think what their rage could lead them to do if an officer touched a sergeant's wife." She said.

"And you think they will accept her as Sergeant's Timmins wife?" he asked.

"Katherine McVitie Timmins is beautiful and that compensates for many things. The soldiers will remember Ross forced her to go to him. She has nice manners and it will be an improvement in Sergeant Timmins standard of living to have a wife to cook, wash, and clean for him. And Sergeant Timmins has a great sense of justice and respect for the convicts even if he will not admit it. He knows she is not a whore, but a young woman greatly abused by poverty and men with too much power. I think Sergeant Timmins could easily fall head-over-heels in love with Katherine McVitie." Deborah explained.

"And Kittie?" he dared to ask.

"Katherine is fragile. She will always cling to a man that offers her protection and respectability." It was flawless logic of the marriage market, but he did not think her cold-blooded over it. Sergeant Timmins was a superior man to most in the colony. And though she might be weak in some ways, Kittie McVitie was a good woman. Bringing the two of them together was the best combination to create happiness in both their lives.

"You're brilliant! You could run the country better than King George." That seemed to please her. He lived to please her. Then his tongue slipped. "How can you love me so much when I can't protect you?"

Deborah didn't look angry or offended. She purred as he stroked her shoulders. "Different women crave different things. You appreciate me. No one else ever really has."

"The Governor appreciates you. Hundreds of convicts appreciate what you do for them." He said.

"Appreciating what I do for them is not the same as appreciating me," she said.

Once again, she was right. The Governor certainly couldn't really appreciate her as a woman and James was secretly glad for that. His fellow convicts had no idea how many decisions about their lives she had changed for the better. He would have been delighted to tell them, but no one talked to him anymore. Maybe he could use the Reverend Johnson as a messenger. Before he could make that suggestion, she pulled him into the pantry for more kisses. Suddenly, she was clinging to him tighter than chains. Her arms were a cage where he longed to be imprisoned for the rest of his life. They ended up on the floor with flames licking at his senses. James had rolled around on the floors of barns, garrets, and flophouses more times than he wanted to remember, but that couldn't happen with her. He wretched himself free and sat up trembling.

"You didn't have to stop. I want to be with you, really be with you." She said.

"Not on the fucking floor!" He said.

"Will you come to my tent then?" she asked.

Those words meant more than I love you. This was a lady, most respect in the colony after Mrs. Johson, ready to risk everything for him. He couldn't let her and he had to make her see that without losing her at the same time. He lowered his voice when he spoke next. "Every night in my dreams I have you. Only we're not here. We're some place better, America maybe, in a clean bed where we have some privacy. But that's not a world I can give us."

"Is that the only way you dream about me?" she asked.

She was digging into some of his deeper fantasies now. There were thing a man didn't like to admit he liked or wanted. On the other hand, if it kept her mind off sex. "In my dreams we have three boys. On Halloween night."

"Halloween night?" She looked confused.

"It's an Irish holiday. Girls stay up with fortune telling games. Boys spend the night setting up pranks." He explained.

"Our boys are not well-behaved?" She seemed to like the spirit of his dreams.

"They're boys and everything I ever did to annoy my parents comes back to haunt me one Halloween night. I finally get them to bed. Actually, I think you get them to bed because in my dreams they obey you with a word. I collapse on the bench by the fire. You sit on my lap. You make me drink some tea; then you look at me with complete sincerity, and say 'I think we are going to have another baby, you should pray for a girl this time.'"

She looked happy again. "Do you ever dream of a daughter?"

He nodded. "She has dark, beautiful hair like her mother. Sometimes the two of you wear matching colors. And when she grows older I am very glad that she has three, strong older brothers."

"She's not allowed to get married?" Deborah asked.

"Eventually. He'll have to be a very good man. He'll have to love her as much as I do. I'll make damn sure he does. When I'm through testing him, I'll stand there trying to hold back my tears as they get married. Except I probably won't and I'll have to tell everyone I'm coming down with a cold. And that night I really start sobbing and your arms are the only thing that can stop the pain." He said.

She wiped her eyes. Christ! That was the last thing he wanted to happen. She stood up. Her fingers caressed his scalp for a moment. "You have beautiful dreams, James. We should not spend any more time in the pantry today."

He got up and followed her outside.


	4. Chapter 4

They had called another General Assembly. James worried what fresh hell this was. From working for the Governor, he knew their food supply had never been better, the natives had not harassed them for months, and London was pleased. Maybe the French Fleet was on the horizon. Idly he wondered if that might be good for the prisoners. No such luck. The Reverend Johnson announced that next Wednesday there would be no heavy labor. It would be a general holiday for the entire colony to celebrate the happy occasion of Governor Arthur Philips's marriage to Widow Deborah. The rage went black and cold inside him. At least, he knew what he had to do and where the rum was this time. He wasted no time returning to the house.

As soon Deborah entered the room, she snatched the tumbler out of his hand. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to hang in a few hours," he said.

"What are you talking about?" she said.

He took back the tumbler and swallowed the last of it. "I'm going to kill the Governor and then they'll hang me."

"Calm down, James," she said.

He put his hands on her shoulders. "I won't let that monster hurt you."

"What are you talking about? Governor Philip is a good gentleman. He's doing a very noble thing for us all." She said.

It looked like he had to tell her the truth unvarnished. He struggled to keep his voice under control, but it was a lost cause. "Noble! You don't sleep here at night. You've got no idea what that bastard likes to do!"

She replied with the calm voice that blessed their evening meal. "I know he and Captain Collins are lovers."

Lovers! His world reeled. He couldn't fathom that word matched with such depravity. Deborah pushed him into a chair. She gave him more rum and started talking about the ancient Spartans and Alexander the Great and somewhere amid the babble of educated words, he came to understand that Governor Philip and Captain Collins would rather shag each other than a woman!

"They came here, so they could be together. They were hoping in a colony, everyone working night and day and so few women, no one would notice their closeness." Deborah explained.

"Then, why for the love of God, would you agree to be his wife?" James said.

"Because it would be advantageous to everyone. The Governor's wife can direct the development of this colony in a way his widowed housekeeper cannot. Mrs. Johnson and I have plans for reform. The presence of a wife will protect Governor Philip and Captain Collins. And it will protect us." She lost her calmness at the last. In fact, her words became so strident they sent cold terror running through his veins.

"Someone has said something?" He would not allow her name to be tarnished. He would confess to rape and hang first.

"Your little shadow, Private Buckley, has hinted he knows something. Whether he does or he is just being clever, I don't know." She said.

The coldness was gone and a volcano's heat poured through James. "I will kill him!"

She kissed him hard. Her teeth all but drew blood from his lower lip. "You will do nothing. I cannot lose you. That would hurt me worse than a lash or manacles and chains." She kissed him again. This time soft enough to be a prayer. "You have often said you believe I am smarter than you, James. Did you mean it?"

He nodded. "I did. I mean, I do. I swear on my soul, you are much smarter than me. You are much smarter than anyone I have ever met." He said.

"I ask you to trust me and do nothing, but bid your time and let my plans work," she said.

Her eyes shined as she gazed up at him. He would follow her to hell and back for that look. "I swear upon my body, my soul, and my being to do nothing, but what you tell me."

"Watch the celebration tomorrow. Be stoic, but not too stoic least Private Buckley delight in tormenting you. By tomorrow evening, our lives will be as wonderful as possible." She said.

It was the grandest party he had ever watched from the fringes. Mrs. Johnson had enlisted some of the convict women to make a table of cakes. There was rum punch enough for everyone and a strange meal of native game, breadfruit, and potatoes. Only in New South Wales did British officers eat potatoes with relish. The Governor and his bride danced an elegant reel to fiddles and flutes while convict women gazed at their soldiers bewildered. It certainly was not the gigs they knew from taverns and country fairs. But she was so elegant like the porcelain figures he had only seen through shop windows. If only the Governor were a different sort of man. Of course, he would lose her if that were the case. He would probably lose her now anyway. In his heart, he couldn't believe a man of privilege like Governor Arthur Philip would tolerate a convict being any more than dirt below his wife's feet. But this was right, she should be the Governor's wife, First Lady of their colony. She was their little queen and much more refined and lovely than the _haus frau_ that currently sat beside old Georgie in London.

Private Buckley broke the spell. "She's a pretty thing. I could overlook getting another man's seconds for a woman like that."

James clenched his fist; then unclenched them just as fast.

Captains Collins stepped into view. "Private Buckley, go annoy someone else," he ordered.

When Buckley was gone, Collins handed James a plate of cake. "You should have some. It will be quite awhile before we will have fine cake again."

He passed the plate back. "Deborah makes better cake."

"It's bad luck for a bride to make her own wedding cake," Collins said.

"What do you want?" James said. He was almost afraid of what that might be. Deborah might believe they were harmless, who knew how perverted these men were? He would do whatever it took to protect the woman he loved, but sweet Jesus he hoped it didn't come to his arse.

"We are going to be occupying the same house. I thought some civility was in order." Captain Collins said.

"We already live in the same house," James reminded him. _I've listened to the Governor bugger you_. He restrained from saying that.

"True, very true. I should have been more cordial sooner considering the many things we have in common." Collins said.

"Things in common! I'm a Mick convict. I don't even know how to describe what gentlemen like you are." Jimmy said.

"We are both men who just watched the person they love marry someone else," Captain Collins said.

James had not expected Collins knew anything about him and Deborah or that Collins would make such a strong statement about his feelings toward Governor Phillip. Strangely enough, James found himself emboldened by the bluntness. "I will not let him hurt her."

"He will not and I know him better than anyone." Collins said.

"I know he hurts you," James said.

Collins smiled as if he wanted to laugh aloud. "No, he doesn't. If you must listen at doors, I suggest placing the bottom of a glass tumbler between your ear and the door. You may learn something.

The end of the celebration brought its own sort of hell. Of course, there was no honeymoon trip for the couple, but Mrs. Johnson insisted on a musical procession to escort them back to the Governor's house. Reverend Johnson gave a lengthy blessing worthy of a sermon on the sacredness of marriage. Twilight was falling when they were finally only four in the house.

"Join us for a drink, Mr. Freeman," the Governor commanded.

He used his fine glasses and served James first like a guest. What was going on?

"We live in a world of unspoken rules which often results in many misunderstandings, so I shall try to speak as plainly as possible. Deborah has a very high opinion of you, which I must confess I do not completely share. However as I consider her judgement quite superior to that of everyone else, I must accept that she sees some exceptional qualities to your character that I have overlooked. Therefore, I will honor her decisions about you so long as you do not abuse her good opinion." The Governor said.

_So much for plain speech_. Apprehension had formed a knot in James's stomach since talking with Collins. "What do you want, Governor?"

The Governor continued. "The four of us will be living under the same roof for some time. We should endeavor to make the best of circumstances by observing the appropriate public faces before the world while protecting the private details about each other's' lives from all others."

He swallowed his rum in one gulp. Was this actually happening? He had to be sure. He could risk nothing. "Somehow I doubt you would be so gracious if you came home to find your wife in my arms."

The Governor lowered his genteel demeanor. "Good Lord, man, we knew you were under the table that day. I'm surprised you didn't hit your head on that central beam."

"He sometimes does." Captain Collins volunteered information that James would rather not know.

"So you know about us. I know about you." James said. _And as bad as the world would see a lady's adultery with a convict, I know which would be considered the worse sin_.

"Then I shall suppose if you have the qualities of natural intelligence, Deborah believes you possess, you will understand that no matter how much I admire her and respect her opinions I find the prospect of sharing a bed with her no more appealing than you would consider spending the night in Captain Collin's embrace." The Governor said.

James had trouble breathing for a moment. This was happening! A road he never saw before. That he never dreamed existed. The Governor preferred a man and did not care if his wife was with someone else! Good God! She did it! She actually did it and found a way for them to be together safely! His Deborah was the very goddess of wisdom.

"You are not the man I would have preferred she choose, but you are the one she wants. I shall not interfere unless your actions jeopardize all of us." The Governor said.

Captain Collins spoke next. "If that day should occur, I feel I could find the legal precedent to act as the Colony's hangman. She is a very good and honorable woman."

Somehow he found the right words. "I know she is well above me and I shall be grateful for whatever time I have in her favor."

The Governor refilled all their glasses and raised his for a toast. "At last, we are in prefect agreement."

They tapped their glasses and he managed not to break his. The goblets gentlemen drank out of seemed slippery in his hand. But that was nerves and more rum wouldn't steady those, so he sat the glass down. What was the expected behavior for a married woman's lover on their first night together? Good Lord, what bedroom was he supposed to go into? Or should he just wait to be summoned? Deborah resolved the issue by coming to extinguish the lamps and shooing them all out of the main room. Darkness had fallen and good souls belonged in bed.

The question of bedrooms was answered without being asked. Captain Collins stopped at his door and opened it for the Governor. He didn't mean to stare, but the look in their eyes! It wasn't like animals or degenerates. It was like lovers even though they were both men!

Deborah reached for his hand. "You look surprised."

"Before the door closed, I saw them kiss," he said.

Her eyes were pools where he could drown. "Why shouldn't they kiss? They love each other. Thank you for trusting me, James. Things would not have worked out so well without your restraint." She leaned unto his shoulder. "Now that we can finally be alone together, do you want to throw me over your shoulder and carry me off?" she asked.

It was her wedding night even if he wasn't quite the husband the law recognized. Only in his deeper fantasies had he imagined being able to do this with her and thrown over his shoulder had never been part of the dream. Instead, he picked her up the way it was supposed to be done. She was an angel who took him into paradise.

The room seemed grander than when he built it. The Governor had left quite a bit of his fine furniture around. There were linen pieces that could have only come from England or Deborah's skilled hands. How had she found the time to do such delicate work? She was at ease in the room. He was not. It seemed too fine for the the likes him just as the woman taking out her hair pins now was so much better than him. Never-the- less he managed to cross the distance between them. "I've never seen your hair down," he said.

A rose blossomed in her check. Was she nervous also? That didn't seem possible. She shook out her tresses. "Now you'll see it that way all the time," she said.

He leaned in to smell her hair. Lavender. "Your hair is beautiful." He picked up her comb and for a few moments they stood in silence while he combed out the shimmering waves.

"You don't have to do this," she said.

"I like doing this. This is my task in the evening from now on." He said.

She showed him a Dutch trunk. "I altered some of Philip's clothes for you into things appropriate for working here. Please do not resent him for that."

"Is there a nightshirt in there?" he asked.

"I'll make you one if you wish, but do you really think you need one tonight?" she asked.

Spicy, but still a lady. "I can't believe he left his bed. You're a good bargainer." He said.

The bed was a marvelous thing, the size of a lifeboat, and made of bright tropical wood. He knew the mattress was good having carried it uphill from the ship. As if it were an ordinary thing she turned down the cover to reveal snowy white sheets. They looked too clean to actually sleep between.

"The best bedroom must look like it is occupied by the Governor's wife. Besides Captain Collins' bed is where they have their best memories." She said. She held out her hand. "Come help me my corset. It's easier when someone helps."

It was kind of fun too, he thought like undoing the strings on a present. He would never understand why women wore these cages around their bodies. Then he was staring at her in nothing, but a fine linen shift. He leaned in to kiss the sweet curve where her neck met her shoulders.

She turned in his arms. Her fingers went to his shirt fastenings. "My turn."

He kissed her fingers. "Not yet, I want to pray and I can't properly address the Lord naked." He knelt down in front of her.

"Shall I join you in prayer," she asked.

"No, but hold my hands." She did. He had thought carefully about his next words. It was the closest to a ceremony they could have. "Our Father in Heaven, I've not been a good man, but I've tried to only do what I needed to survive. There is a good woman in my life now. You who know all things and can see in the hearts of us all know this just as you know how true my feelings are for her. The man she is legally bound to cannot be a real husband to her. Therefore, it is not a real marriage. As you are also the greatest judge, I ask that in your eyes, under your divine law, you consider us man and wife in this world and the next."

He felt Deborah's grip on his hands increase. He looked up. Her eyes were edged by crystals. "In my heart, you are my husband."

He stood up and took her in his arms. "In my heart, you are my wife."

More kisses, glorious and fine. Her mouth was sweeter than berries, than honey or sugar. It was fun being undressed by her until he was standing there completely uncovered with her walking around him. "Deborah, I feel like a prize cow at the market."

"Not the prize stallion?" she whispered into his ear.

Damn! She had a way with words.

"My father had books with sketches of Greek and Roman statues. Your body reminds me of those drawings." Her hands stilled. "These scars. Have you been lashed?" She asked.

"A few times," he admitted.

"My poor, James." She kissed his scars.

Her hands when to his chest caressing him with fire. He turned around. Her face was empty of embarrassment or shame. She placed his hands on her shift. "Now help me."

He had never been so naked before with anyone. They were like Adam and Eve. Her body was so perfect it left him speechless, but he memorized every curve. This image would stay in his head until the day he died. They scarcely needed the lamp. Her skin seemed to glow and her gaze was luminous. "I think we should get in bed." Please God, let his voice not sound as shaky as he felt.

She stepped forward and put her arms around his neck. "I love you, James."

He swept her up in his arms. "I love you. I love you so much I can't think about anything else sometimes!"

The bed really was a fairy bower, better than any he had before. This was how the lovers in the books lived. No obligations or duties only the pure pleasure of love. They explored each other carefully. He never knew a woman's body had so many delightful places or that hearing the sighs and small rumblings of his partner could create such phenomenal pleasure for him. It was so much better than shagging. And when they were one, he felt their souls were contacting into something pure and holy. He couldn't feel himself anymore. There was only the two of them together. He loved and she loved and that was all that stood between him and the devil's abyss. More than pleasure, but the meaning of life itself or at least what was supposed to be good in life. Her contractions sent him soaring, but her limbs tied him to the earth. He never wanted to leave her. He couldn't live without her. The fire came this time baptizing him in flames that made any sprinkling of holy water laughable in comparison. In the burning sweetness he found his only true freedom through her.

Afterwards he tried to lay down, but she fastened her arms around his waist. "Don't move." It was an order.

He stroked her cheek. "It's too hot for you to sleep with me on top of you."

"I'll be the judge of that. I like being surrounded by you." She said.

"Did I give you a firestorm, again?" he asked.

She smiled. "Even more so than the first."

Gently he undid her arms and settled beside her. The mattress seemed made of gossamer and angel's feathers. "Well, if you want me to do that again before morning, I need to rest on my back a bit."

She tucked herself in under his arm very nicely and used his shoulder for a pillow. He could sleep that way for the rest of their lives. A grin spread across her face larger than he had ever seen before. "You can do that again? Tonight?"

He positively knew the proper response to that question. "We can try."


	5. Chapter 5

James Freeman woke up with the women he loved in his arms. He remembered the old stories of fairy women living among humans. She was so perfect, but felt so warm. And last night had been beyond his wildest dreams of what love making could be. Love making? Oh yeah, that was the right word. Certainly couldn't call such splendor anything else. Deborah woke up later slowly opening her eyes to the new day. "I was afraid I would find last night had been a dream," she said.

He rocked her in his arms a little and kissed her forehead. Words didn't seem necessary, but touch was essential. He wanted to rub his tongue over every inch of her body before having to part for the day, but that wasn't practical. When she started to get up, he kissed her shoulder. "Stay."

"Someone has to prepare breakfast," she reminded him.

"I'll do that. I'm the Governor's man servant. I want you to let me take care of you. I don't have any other way of showing how much I feel." He said.

She acquiesced to her pillow and murmured something about the Governor not wanting eggs. As if he didn't already know they were low on eggs after yesterday. He made the Governor and Captain Collins a breakfast of smoked fish and boxty. The last the Governor had never seen before.

"Pancakes from potatoes. Extraordinary." Arthur Philip exclaimed.

James was getting use to the Englishman's different manners and recognized the comment was not a condemnation. "We make everything out of potatoes in Ireland, Governor. Shoes, lanterns, weapons."

There was silence; then, Collins spoke up. "He's only joking, Arthur."

"Oh, well, it's quite a marvelous idea. Pancakes out of potatoes." The Governor said before returning all attention to his plate.

"Be careful with the onion relish," Captain Collins said. James noticed Collins actually removed relish from the Governor's plate.

"But it's delightful with these new potato pancakes," the Governor said.

"Too much onion relish and your stomach gives you difficulty the rest of the day," Collins said.

"I'll just drink some extra tea with honey," the Governor said.

"And then you won't be able to sleep tonight," Collins replied.

James had the odd feeling of having watched a common exchange between a long married couple. He waited another hour and brought two fresh breakfasts to Deborah's room. She was already preparing for the day.

"Breakfast in bed? How decadent." She said.

"Actually, I thought we would use your dressing table," he suggested.

It occurred to James that the room was about the size of an Irish cottage. If he had been a successful farmer, their first married morning would have been a place much like this. Well, after he had tended all the animals and brought in the peat. And she would have had to cook everything in the fireplace. The eggs would have been even more rare there than they were here, but she would have had them. She would have had a breakfast fit for a queen on the morning after their wedding. Still, this life was better for her where she might have a herb garden, but would never work in the fields. And he wouldn't trade that for her to save his own life even. His world had shrunk to the confines of this room, but he embraced the confinement. It was all he needed in life.

Like the Governor, Deborah had never had boxty before, but she seemed to like it. He told her about Collins and the onion relish.

"They argue about onion relish all the time. I think David just doesn't like the scent on the Governor's breath." Deborah said.

"Collins asked me to have a drink with him. What do you think he wants?" James asked.

"He wants your friendship. You are a man in a similar situation." Deborah said.

"There's nothing similar about us," James declared. He got sick thinking about what the Governor and Collins did. "You know, Collins has a wife and children in England."

Deborah continued smiling at him sweetly. 'I know he and his wife are friends like me and Arthur are. Their marriage was arranged by their parents. He loves his children as much as any good father does."

He hadn't considered that. She always did think far ahead of him. Briefly he wondered how much she, Captain Collins and the Governor had talked over the arrangement they were all in now. Deborah laid her hand over his. "Their love makes ours so much easier."

He nodded and leaned in to kiss her.

**Ten Months Later**

He did find himself having a drink, actually several, the night of Deborah's first confinement. He had been pacing the kitchen going silently out of his mind when Collins found him.

"It will be all right, Mr. Freeman. The birth of a first child can take hours. Sometimes days." Collins said.

James remembered Collins had experience of sorts with childbirth, so he let the man usher him out of the kitchen and into Collins and the Governor's bedroom. It was closer, but now James could hear the women shrieking from inside Deborah's bedroom. A scream pierced the house and James bolted out of his chair.

"Sit down, Mr. Freeman. I think that was Henrietta Lark. She's never attended a birth before. It can be quite visceral." Collins said.

"How much does any man know about it?" James heard himself ask.

"I wanted to study medicine originally, but my father thought law was more becoming a gentleman." Collins placed a hand on Jame's shoulder. "One thing I remember most clearly is that mothers who are attended by midwives are much less likely to succumb to child bed fever than those who are attended by physicians."

Another cry pierced the house, muzzle shot loud, an infant's scream. James shot up from his chair again, but stopped himself in time. He looked at Collins. "Could you?"

"Of course," Captain Collins replied. As the Governor's friend and the most likely godfather it was only natural he would make inquiries that would seen out of place for the Governor's house servant/hangman. Luckily, Collins wasn't gone long.

"A boy, Mr. Freeman! A very healthy boy!" he told James with all enthusiasm proper for a good godparent.

"And Deborah?" James demanded before anything else was said.

"Very healthy and entreating the women to go home to their own families. After all the Governor does have a manservant." Collins said.

Deborah looked radiant, but she probably needed rest. He picked up Little Arthur from his cradle. Strong and healthy, probably the most perfect boy he had ever seen. Babies should be with their parents, not in wooden boxes. He sat down beside her. "Told you some men are no more fertile than mules."

She giggled. In recent months, she had been happy in a way no one had ever seen before. It was a change he had found most wondrous. James had always thought her ravishingly attractive, but when the child, their child, swelled inside her, she seemed to explode with the giddy beauty of a young woman's first bloom. She told him repeatedly that every day since her second wedding had been a vindication of the righteousness of their choice. James only knew what men would consider wrong; God seemed content to bless with the healthy baby in her arms. He had no fear of how a heavenly court judged him.

"I think he'll have his father's eyes," Deborah said.

"I hope he'll have his mother's sharp mind and not his father's talent for mischief," James said. _I have plans for you, boy. School and lots of it_.

Words were spat at him with a venom that reviled the native snakes. "He's yours. Isn't he?"

James looked up and saw Elizabeth. _Christ!_ He thought the women were all gone, but it made sense that Elizabeth would stay longer. She had more knowledge of childbirth than most of the colony's women.

Deborah took the offensive. "Yes, and my husband knows. And he willingly gives this child his first and last name. But you may do what you wish with the information you now have."

Elizabeth's gaze met Deborah's. _Nature teaches beasts to know their friends._ Apparently, that was true of women too. "I would not harm that babe for the wide world. I respect his mother too much." Then she laughed, high and cruel. That was more frightening to him than her angry wrath. "Oh, Jimmie Freeman, I wanted you to suffer, but you've made your own hell better than I ever dreamed. You'll bow and scrape to the Governor for the rest of your life and never even be able to claim your own son."

After she left Deborah's iron collapsed. She looked very upset. He tried to reassure her. "She won't harm us. She won't say anything."

"I think I've done you very wrong, James." Her voice was something out of funeral. This was supposed to be one of the happiest days of their lives.

"What are you talking about? Everything good in my life is because of you." He said.

"You can't claim your own son," she said.

"I know who he is. I also know he'll never go hungry and he'll go to school instead of into the streets to steal. I know he'll every advantage this new land has. Advantages I could never give him." James said. "I'll get to spend more time with him than my father ever did with me and no one will think it's questionable. Ask the Governor or Collins about their childhoods. They were raised by servants." He leaned over and kissed Deborah. "It's going to be great life!"

**Epilogue:**

The Reverend and Mrs. Johnson never returned to England. In time, they had a son and a daughter. They also became legal guardians for numerous orphans whom they would regard as family despite the lack of blood ties. Their biological son became a successful missionary among the native population.

Sergeant and Mrs. Timmins had two sons and two daughters. Upon his retirement, they left New South Wales for the Sergeant's native Scotland where they opened a respectable seaside-lodging house.

Major Robert Ross returned to England and married unhappily. His wife had numerous affairs and he eventually died from wounds received in a dual with one of her lovers. His widow remarried in Gretna Green four days later.

"Letters" Mobley's sentence was commuted early. His wife and children joined him in New South Wales where he founded the first common school. Anne Hatheway taught the younger children reading and fine penmanship there. She was rumored to teach other things when asked and the Reverend Johnson was not around. Of all the English settlers of the colony, she was the most successful at establishing friendly relations with the native population. So much was her influence and respect among the local tribes that Governor Philip relied on her for advice and considered her his "ambassadoress".

The fourth shipment of convicts brought a Miss Janet Bagley a young woman who made up in cunny intelligence for what she lacked in physical beauty. She had learned early that a man who is outcast by his peers could be easily manipulated by anyone who offered him acceptance and attached herself to Private Buckley at the first opportunity. Within a year, the couple were married and her sentence commuted. While it was said she was a harridan with the temper of the wild beasts found on Tasmania, it was also said by some that this was to Buckley's benefit. From the first days of marriage until probably the last, she dictated every word, action, and possibly, thought her husband had and so doing made him a better man. Latter arrivals who expressed sympathy for the unfortunate, hen-pecked Corporal Buckley were often told, "It's quite an improvement to what he was." Still, the marriage was successful, producing two sons and a daughter, whose paternity no one ever disputed. The Buckley brothers operated a very successful tavern together. Their sister opened a lodging house for female borders with very liberal guest rules. There were always rumors, but nothing was ever proven. She died one of the richest, unmarried women in New South Wales.

Elizabeth Barrett Dobbins did not reconcile to James Freeman's presence for three decades and only after her eldest son, Captain Thomas Barrett II, freshly returned from the wars, eloped with Governor Philip's daughter, Jane Alice. The Governor and Mrs. Philip were temporarily mortified, but adapted quickly. The young officer had acquired nearly forty thousand pounds in prize money, which regardless of his lineage did place him among the most eligible bachelors in New South Wales, and Jane Alice had earlier refused to go to England to find a husband. Captain Barrett's stepfather, William Stubbins though quite a successful self-made businessman would forever remained in awe of his stepson's achievements. Captain Barrett's mother was less impressed as she had always been at everything her eldest son did. Someone had to keep him in check she always said, least the reckless courage that could capture so many French frigates take over other aspects of his life leading to his ruin. She thought the couple completely deserving of each other and was always quite vocal that neither their courtship nor the clandestine marriage could have occurred without the aid of Governor Philip's manservant/hangman. For assuring that her son got the woman he loved, she could make peace with the past and James Freeman. No one disagreed.

Arthur and Deborah Philip's marriage lasted for thirty-five years until his death and produced five sons and one daughter. James Freeman never left their service even after his sentence ended. He declined the offer of being majordomo to the next Colonial Governor and continued to work for Mrs. Philip and her second son, Judge Advocate James David Philip. Deborah Phillip would outlive her husband by nearly fourteen years. She passed away quietly in her sleep. Official accounts state this was discovered by the butler, James Freeman, when he brought her morning tea. Several hours later James Freeman was found expired in a chair by her body. The Phillip children vehemently opposed any suggestion of burying "Uncle James" in the convicts' cemetery. The eldest, Arthur Thomas Philip issued the formal statement, "James Freeman served our mother faithfully for years. He raised my brothers, my sister, and me. He was family in all but legalities." Deborah Philips was buried in the family cemetery plot with her husband on one side and James Freeman on the other. It was often said that the children left just as many flowers on James Freeman's grave as they did the elder Philips'.


End file.
